Saccharine Disposition
by KToon
Summary: Sam shifted in his seat. "Then that means someone else has to have the Mark to keep her locked up. And since Dean has already been affected by it, as well as Lucifer, they can't have it again. So if nobody else can wield it, then that only leaves one person. Right?" Tag to EP 11x22, AU. Hurt!Sam Protective!Dean
1. Chapter 1

**I'm not sure what's with me and going back to old stories! Geez!**

 **So, this is something that has sat in my documents for going onto 8 months now. I've toyed with the idea a lot, and it hasn't fully come to me. I came across it when I was making a video edit (yes, I do those, low-key promo: KToonX on YouTube) in which was a request from somebody. It was about Amara, and while I was re-watching Season 11 to find clips, THIS SCENE came across me and just slapped me in the face.**

 **It's where as a last resort, Chuck tries to transfer the Mark of Cain to Sam, in order to lock Amara away. It doesn't happen though, because Amara stops him. How many of you remember this scene? Because** ** _I sure didn't!_** **I looked for some fanfiction on this episode, and didn't find much of anything. How?! This is the perfect setting for an AU.**

 **This is not going to be a copy of when Dean had the Mark, of course. I have some ideas. I have a lot of ideas. What's missing is motivation. So, I feel like this is going to be my fall-back story, unless I get a lot of people who are interested by it. This means, when I have a writer's block, or am just bored and don't know what to do, then this will be the story I turn to in order to set myself straight. This also means no scheduled updates.**

 **But, maybe with a tad confidence I'll write faster? Who knows? Hehehe.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. (lol, you get what I mean.)**

 **Enjoy! (Reviews are like candy: amazing.)**

* * *

Dean's mind whirled.

He had no idea what to do, and had very little to no time to even think about what actions he could take in order to change what was happening to his little brother. It was the worst kind of torture.

Dean had bore the Mark for almost two years. He knew the sensation—the rage, the hate, the _need_ to kill. But throughout the whole time he had donned the crimson tattoo on his forearm, there was one thing that he always thought of that kept him going. Excluding the time he was a demon, of course.

Sam didn't have to go through this. For once, Sam could catch a break. He didn't have to worry about demon blood, or Lucifer, or being soulless, or going crazy, or dealing with the trials. He could finally just be...Sammy.

That's why, right now, watching his brother receive the Mark was one of the worst feelings he had ever had. He felt so hopeless, so forlorn. He had failed once more at protecting his brother from the evils that were the hunting life, the persecution again targeting Sam because apparently that's just how life was nowadays. Sam always got the inferior of it.

And the worst part about this entire situation? Dean had agreed. He had freaking agreed to letting his little brother be consumed by the Mark, and he hated himself for his decision. But with everybody watching, especially the Lord Himself, Dean didn't really think he had too much of a choice.

 _God and I talked about this. Someone needs to bare the Mark._

Dean wasn't sure when Sam had been able to set up a private, confidential meeting with God beyond his knowledge, especially since they had been hovering around each other since the whole Amara thing started, but he was frustrated that Sam had lied to him...again. For a good cause? Sure. But for Dean? Debatable.

 _Well that should be me. I'm—I've had it before, I'm damaged goods._

Dean would be lying if he said he was fine with wielding the Mark for a second round. In fact, it was the very last thing he wanted to do. But if it meant Sam didn't have to go through that pain? Then he was one hundred percent on-board with the plan.

 _Exactly, you've already been tainted. I can't transfer it to you—Sam volunteered._

Just like that, his whole strategy before went out the window. Snap. Sam had _volunteered._ Willingly. Dean knew why, of course. Sam's kind-hearted nature wouldn't let him stand back and watch the world die, knowing he could do something to prevent it. He doubted he himself would either. But why Sam? Why was it always Sam?

 _And what happens when the Mark turns you psycho? Then what?_

 _You lock me up where I can't hurt anyone, and throw away the key!_

Again. There it is. The Winchester's self-sacrificing, throw-yourselves-in-the-face-of-danger demeanor that manages to get just everybody in trouble. But, at this point, Dean didn't have any other cards to play, and the apocalypse was nearing. So he agreed. He complied, and watched as the plan unfolded itself, regretting his decision immensely.

He could see Sam curled over in a fetal position, sinking to the ground and obviously in a great amount of pain. Clutching onto his brother, Dean helped to carefully lead him to the cement floor, in which Sam collapsed onto his knees, holding himself up by one arm and gazing intently at his other which was glowing bright red. Dean watched horror-struck as the familiar symbol began to engrave itself onto Sam's skin, the vermilion tones traveling through his veins as it latched onto his soul.

He wasn't sure who was screaming, but he definitely heard it. It could've been Amara, it could've been Sam, but it most certainly could've also been him. In fact, he was pretty sure it was all of the above.

Suddenly, a burst of light flashed amongst the room, turning everything a vibrant shade of white. He tried to shield his eyes, but failed miserably, falling and turning onto his back as he began to feel lightheaded.

Just like that, it was gone.

The room was restored to its normal color, and the only sounds were those of everybody around him breathing heavily. Blinking rapidly, he sat up into a sitting position, his mind instantly screaming _Sam!_ at him. That was when he spotted the lax heap of limbs sprawled out face-down a few feet to his right, and he struggled to crawl over to his unmoving brother.

"Sammy?" he whispered, silently wishing, _praying,_ for any sign of consciousness. Any sign that the Mark wasn't where he thought it was. "Sam?"

He could feel multiple pairs of eyes on him, those which he suspected to be Chuck's, Crowley's, Rowena's, and hell even Lucifer's. Not that he cared that the others were staring at him, all that mattered was _Sam_.

Grasping onto Sam's jacket, Dean gently tugged his body over so that Sam was on his back, face directed at the ceiling. Feeling for a pulse on his neck, he was relieved when he discovered the normal beat of his heart, no complexities that he at least could detect.

Then, remembering their predicament, he almost forgot to breathe. Panicking, he rolled up the sleeves of Sam's flannel, knowing but dreading what he was going to see hidden there. The Mark, bright and scarlet, was on his baby brother's arm, seemingly taunting him. His hands shaking, he softly touched the inflamed skin around the area.

The crushing realization hitting him full force, he let his body fall on top of Sam's limp one, and he _cried._ Dean Winchester cried, because the worst thing he could ever imagine was bestowing itself upon him, and he didn't know what to do. For the first time in forever, Dean was truly, utterly powerless.

* * *

" _Hey, uh, God? Sorry, I mean Chuck?" Sam began, slowly walking into the room where the Lord was currently sitting in one of the main chairs, drinking whatever the hell was in that 'World's Best Dad' coffee mug._

 _Chuck looked up from his drink, his eyebrows arched, and Sam took that as a cue to sit in the seat across from him. "Yes, Sam?"_

" _I've, uh, I've got to talk to you about something." Sam was really dreading having this conversation, but he knew it had to be done at some point. They were running low on time, and by now this was pretty much the only solution that was rational. Dean wouldn't like it, Sam knew, but now Amara was gaining strength, and with Crowley, Rowena, and Lucifer (and didn't he hate to say that?) they actually had a shot at winning._

" _Y'know, I've been thinking," Sam started, mentally preparing himself for the words he was about to speak, "if you were to just kill the Darkness, say, take her out of the equation, then that would end badly, wouldn't it?"_

 _Chuck sighed, obviously knowing where this conversation was headed. "Yes, it would. Without the darkness, well…"_

" _The scales aren't balanced. The light vanquishes the dark, or so it goes, but without any darkness to vanquish, then that upsets the natural balance," Sam finished. "We can't just eliminate Amara."_

" _Exactly."_

 _Sam took a deep breath. He had watched as the Mark had turned his brother into something he wasn't—the word monster comes to his mind—and how he had to sit witness and paralyzed, unable to do anything to stop it. So, with what he was going to say, he knew it would hurt Dean more than it would himself. Nevertheless, it was better to do it. Amara would be locked up, and things could be normal for once. Sam liked that._

 _Maybe Dean could lead an actual decent life. He recalls Lisa and Ben, but even with them Dean was never fully happy._

 _This made Sam chuckle. It was ironic how he, the one who always wanted the apple pie life, never got it, yet Dean, loyal to the hunting lifestyle, was given it by chance. Not that Sam minded—in fact, he always had and still does think that Dean deserved a life more than him, especially that destiny seemed to agree. He just found it funny._

 _Sam shifted in his seat. "Then that means someone else has to have the Mark. To keep her locked up, right? And since Dean has already been affected by it, as well as Lucifer, they can't have it again."_

 _Chuck nodded absentmindedly. "How'd you figure that out?"_

" _It was pretty easy from the look on your face when we were in the main room, talking about ways to kill her," Sam stated._

 _Chuck laughed. "Yeah, I guess so. But even if it wouldn't be of effect when we kill her, she's still my sister. I don't want to kill her either way. You of all people should understand," he said with a thoughtful expression._

 _Sam thought back to all of the times in which he prayed, and how he would do it almost every night after Pastor Jim taught him in his church when he was only nine years old. He even did it sometimes after they discovered the truth and met Cas, begging for forgiveness and redemption for being tainted and a disgrace. Of course the host of Heaven didn't listen though, and rightly so. He was destined for hell the moment he turned six months old._

" _I did hear your prayers," Chuck told him quietly. "All of them." Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and Chuck scrambled to continue. "Toledo, Ohio. 1998. You were fifteen years old. It was a black dog, I believe, and had shredded your brother up pretty bad. You fell asleep crying and praying to everyone who would listen for them not to take him. For being the chosen vessel it was pretty loud, and it was not necessarily easy to ignore."_

" _You…?"_

" _It was nothing, really. Just a nudge to get him through the night."_

 _Sam didn't know what to say. "T-Thanks?" He didn't really want it to come out as a question, but it did. A few moments of silence passed, and Chuck gestured for him to continue. "Anyways, uh, back to what I wanted to ask you. The Mark?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _Well, if nobody else here is capable of wielding it, then that leaves one person remaining, right?"_

" _Unfortunately," Chuck responded sadly. "Sam, you have to understand what you're getting into, here. You saw what it did to your brother."_

" _I didn't just see it," Sam corrected, "I was running for my life while he was too busy playing a game of cat and mouse. He tried to kill me with a hammer_. _I think I know what I'm doing, no offense."_

 _Chuck raised his hands. "I know you do, Sam. But just understand this. You will not be hurting yourself here, but as for your brother...Lord only knows what will happen." Chuck paused. "No pun intended," he added, "but do you remember how you felt when Dean was being consumed by the Mark?"_

" _I do. I don't want to be reminded, either."_

" _Good. So you know that it'll be ten times worse for Dean."_

" _What?"_

" _Sam, he's been looking out for you since that fire in Lawrence that destroyed your guys' lives. He had to be a mother, he had to be a father, and he had to be a brother, but he didn't care because all that mattered was keeping you safe. Losing you would destroy him."_

 _Sam breathed out, trying to steady his breathing before continuing. "I know," he said, and hated the tremor that racked his words. "I know."_

 _Chuck studied him. "But you're still going to do it, aren't you?"_

 _Sam shook his head yes. "I have to. I've got no choice."_

" _You always have a choice. I just hope you're making the right one."_

" _I am," he said confidently, and stood up to leave._

 _tbc?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, let me start off by saying a few things._

 _I uploaded the first chapter of this story on September 24, 2018. It is now March 1st, 2019. That makes...uh...let's see...a little over five months since I've last visited this? I just recently checked back to it not too long ago, and I saw 10 freakin' reviews, with 7 likes and 18 follows! For a 2k word chapter story that I didn't plan on really continuing, that is amazing feedback, and I've never had anything like it. So, I appreciate everybody who read and enjoyed this, and especially those who commented!_

 _I hope this chapter is just as good as the previous one. I don't know when I'll update this next, but it certainly won't be five months from now. I also hope to update Volition shortly, too. So...if you could give me the same feedback you guys did this one...it would make my day! Let me know how I did with this!_

 _Also, side-note, I do **not** ship anybody in this show. This is a completely GEN and PLATONIC story._

 _Warnings: Profanity of a sailor._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

Dean hit the hardwood with a grunt, curling his fingers into a fist to try and absolve his onslaught of anger. He got to his feet and blinked the dizziness away with a slight bit of difficulty, looking around. The silence was oppressive. He glanced around confusedly, eyeing everything in his surroundings with care. He was in the bunker. He was alone, too.

The comforting and familiar scene of the common room greeted him, and he stumbled over to one of the tables for support. He was still completely dazed, the floor shifting dangerously. It was as though nothing had happened prior to the whole showdown with Amara.

As he was leaning against the oaken table, Dean felt his fingers brush over something sharp and chipped. He immediately snapped his gaze down, and found an array of burn marks spread over the top. It seemed newly placed, reading two words:

 _Thank you._

Dean swallowed, an uncomfortable feeling settling into his stomach. "Sammy?" he called softly, but choked when his throat presented a deep burning sensation and forced him to cough roughly. He made his way to the kitchen, gathering a bottle of water and downing it within thirty seconds—he was completely parched, and also hungry, but that would have to wait because he needed to find Sam.

Resuming his task, he said again, this time more loud, "Sam? Where are you?"

Nothing but quietude responded. "Come on," he muttered to himself, and began searching the closer rooms. Not too long later, he came up to Sam's door, and caught himself about to knock. Shaking his head, he instead just snatched the doorknob and opened it with no caution.

A limber form lay on the bed, and he released a deep breath of relief. Sam was fine. _For now,_ his mind added unnecessarily.

He ran a calloused hand through his hair and sat down on a nearby desk. The only person he could think of that had the power to put them back here was Chuck. Or Lucifer, but that was simply disgusting to think about—completely out of question.

Anxious, he stood again and walked over to Sam's side. He was clearly sleeping. Careful not to disturb him, Dean took Sam's left arm and turned it over, then rolled up the sleeve. The Mark was still there. Red and luminescent, swollen skin surrounding the area. He blinked, still not comprehending. Some would say it was denial, others grief. Dean thought neither—it was anger, at himself.

He'd fucked up so bad.

The sudden outburst couldn't be withheld; he snapped, and before he knew it books were flying across the room, pages and spines becoming contorted from hitting the wall, and the desk lamp was nowhere to be seen. Huffing, he looked back to his brother—still asleep. He'd expected the commotion to wake him.

"Sam?" he pried.

The form on the bed didn't even twitch.

"Shit," Dean cursed, a subdued version of fear gripping him. "I swear, if you keep dreamin' on and don't open your eyes for me, I might have to start calling you Sleeping Beauty from now on." The attempted humor fell flat, and Dean's heart plummeted at the dearth of response.

"He'll wake up soon. Chuck wanted him to get some rest. He's going to need it."

Dean snapped around to face the entrance of the door, the familiar voice sparking something in his mind. Immediately, he felt many different emotions wash over him—relief, gratitude, shock. Because that definitely wasn't Lucifer. That was…

"Cas?" Dean asked disbelievingly. His best friend, wearing a tattered beige coat and blue tie, was standing before him; he looked exhausted beyond belief, wrinkles exposed and bags bright, but was _there._ With Lucifer possessing him for the last few months, Dean had been at such a loss. It was as though there was a piece missing from him, absent, and their family wasn't complete.

Sure, he was pissed as hell at his friend. Completely and utterly angry. It was unfathomable the betrayal Cas had caused for their entire family, and he couldn't even know where to begin accepting what the angel had done. Sam had gone through so much pain, so much disaster and heartbreak and panic attacks, for the Devil to simply be loose again. Cas had undid everything that they'd been through, and Dean didn't think he'd ever be able to fully forgive him.

But seeing him there, alive and himself, was enough for Dean to take five quick paces forward and tug Cas into a large embrace. Cas seemed to melt into the touch, and they stayed like that for a long while. It wasn't more than just two friends, separated by unforeseen means, and alas reunited after a terrible tragedy.

Breaking apart, Dean studied his friend incredulously, and trailed off, "How…?"

Cas shrugged his shoulders. "Chuck went away. I don't know exactly where, but I can presume we won't be seeing him for a long while. He took Lucifer with him."

Dean laughed humorlessly, hysterical. "Lucifer's gone?" he asked, seeking clarification he'd heard right.

"He is."

The elder couldn't help but physically double over in relief and ghastly chortles. Having the archangel in the bunker had been one of the worst things for both of the brothers to endure. After the torture Sam had went through being in the Cage, the fact he was trapped in an underground, secure place—despite being his own home—with Lucifer again, was unimaginable. After Lucifer had marked his territory in Sam's bedroom—scattering books, ripping the bedspread—the episode Sam'd had was awful. It took Dean dragging him away in the Impala to calm him enough to the point he could breathe again.

Dean couldn't blame his brother. If he was stuck like this with Alastair...he didn't think he'd be able to keep himself composed enough to continue the job. It was horrifying to think about, and he knew for Sam it must be ten times worse. Then again, though, Sam was always more mentally strong than him—Dean knew that easily.

Snapping back to the present, Dean switched his gaze between his friend and sibling. His brief moment of happiness gone, sorrow began to reign him back in again, keeping him leashed and muzzled with the predicament they now found themselves in. He cast his eyes downward.

"Can you help me move him?" Dean asked suddenly.

Cas looked confused. "Why? Would he not want to wake up in the comfort of his own bed?"

"No," Dean harshly said. "Not with _him_ having been in here."

Cas didn't need clarification on who Dean was talking about. He nodded.

In tandem, they began to lift Sam up from the mattress. It was awkward for sure, both of them carrying the ridiculously tall brother to Dean's room, but with Cas's increased strength it wasn't difficult. Eventually they got Sam settled under Dean's covers, and Dean pulled a chair from his desk and collapsed onto it.

"What happened back there?" Dean asked finally, breaking a minute's silence.

"The plan was successful."

Dean rolled his eyes, irritated. "No shit. I got that part. But what else went down? How did we end up at the bunker?"

Cas came to a stand in the peripheral of Dean's vision, but Dean didn't turn to look at him. Instead, he determinedly kept his eyes trained on his brother.

"Well, after Sam accepted the Mark, Amara was ripped back to the interdimensional cage she was kept in before she was released. Balance was restored. Everything returned to how it was. You weren't aware, but afterward, Chuck sent everybody back to where they belonged. He freed me, stole away Lucifer, and ran. He could be light years away by now. And so...here we are."

Dean processed the information as it came rushing at him. He was beginning to realize the severity of the situation. "Get Rowena," he ordered. "Make sure she has the Book of the Damned with her."

"Dean...you can't…"

"No!" Dean shot back, getting to his feet. "If you think that I'm just going to stand here and watch this thing turn my brother into some...some _monster,_ then you're wrong! I know how that feels like, trying to combat the effects of internal rage, and let me tell you, Cas! It ain't pleasant! It feels like your body is at war with itself, fighting for control and not caring if you get caught in the crossfire. It feels like you're being torn apart. And...Sam? I can't...I just _can't_ watch him go through the same thing. I won't do it." More solidly, he repeated, "I _won't_."

Cas seemed stunned into silence. Before he could let the few tears of weakness running down his face show, Dean turned away to face the wall. His hands were interlocked behind his head, as though trying to gather breath after a tough running session their father had forced upon them. He couldn't do this.

"Get Rowena here. Now. I don't fucking care if we release God's sister again. He's going to have to learn how to sort out family quarrels the normal way."

"Dean, you don't understand."

He dried his face quickly as anger overtook him. "What don't I understand?" he snapped, turning around.

"The book...Chuck destroyed it. He figured you'd want to do something like this...so he exploded it into atoms. It can't be recovered."

Dean stared straight ahead as a multitude of feelings came about him.

 _No, nonono._

He thought back to the incinerated words of thanks singed on the table. Well, Chuck could take his piss-poor expressions of gratitude and shove them up his ass. It was truly over. His brother had the Mark...for good. He couldn't take it.

Suddenly the room seemed to press down on him and he couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breath._

Cas sensed his distress. "Dean?"

Hurriedly, Dean fumbled out an excuse of, "Let me know if he wakes up," and exited the room at a jog, leaving his friend behind. The corridors blurred past him in a flurry of movement as he made his way through the building, mind spinning.

Finally, he reached the library. It was the first place that had come to mind—Sam's favorite location in the structure. Full of lore and stories, novels and references. Dean fell to his knees, at a loss for what to do with himself. He'd never felt this broken. Not when Sam was soulless, or dealing with hallucinations, or the trials, or when they were separated after Gadreel. Nothing compared to this kind of grief he was feeling right now, knowing the at some point in the foreseeable future, he'd have to enact measures to keep his brother locked down to where he couldn't do anybody else harm.

" _You lock me up where I can't hurt anyone, and throw away the key!"_

He could never do that. Never.

He pressed his forehead to the cold hardwood floor, letting the waterworks run rampant. He'd walked his brother through enough panic attacks and gone through a fair share of them himself to know this was one he was experiencing right now. However, he didn't have his sibling to hold him this time, to murmur comforting words, to ground him with his own heartbeat, to match his breathing with, to cry into his shoulder.

Because Sam was lying unconscious on Dean's own bed, the dark breath of evil on his forearm.

And there was nothing Dean could do about it.


	3. Chapter 3

_A fast update! Whoo! I felt like writing for once!_

 _Don't know if it's any good, though. I think it is? I have no beta, so I wouldn't know._

 _Also, these reviews make me SO freaking happy that you all keep leaving. Trust me: never feel like you comment too much on something. Commentary is always something a writer thrives in, and the more the better. Thanks so much!_

 _See warnings/disclaimers CH. 1 and 2. Enjoy!_

* * *

Sam awoke to a vicious pounding in his head.

Which, in all honesty, wasn't that surprising.

Oftentimes, returning to the land of the conscious was a painful process in their line of work. If they were ever passed out, it was most likely due to just two things: being knocked out via blunt-force trauma to the head, or a long night of drinking gone extreme at some shabby bar. Both possibilities resulted in a killer headache afterward, and neither were fun to deal with. Sam wondered which one it was this time.

He wasn't one to drink much, but occasionally when things got nasty or he wasn't feeling like himself, he could swallow back a decent amount. This didn't feel like some random hangover, though. The pain came from his temples, arising in intensity, and he figured that was more likely the signs of a concussion than a rough alcohol endeavor.

Sam cracked his eyes open marginally. Expectedly, the bright light of the room came slamming into his vision, and he shut them once more in search of relief. Unexpectedly, however, came the rush of memories bombarding his mind. It all came back so fast, and he groaned in pain as it seemed to amplify the thrumming in his head.

"Sam?" a voice questioned, but he scarcely acknowledged it. Instead, he was focused on the flashbacks.

They were coming up with a plan to stop Amara. They'd all gathered around Chuck as though it were some ceremony. Crowley and Rowena were there, too. And Lucifer—

 _Lucifer._

Sam sat up, panicked, way too fast. All the blood rushed up to his head, and he twirled around out of instinct to grab the gun he knew would be under his pillow. In the back of his mind he pointed out reasonably this wasn't necessarily _his_ bed—it felt different, almost more soft and comforting, the smell of oldened whisky and leather occupying it—but nevertheless he still hoped there was some form of a firearm he could grab and use.

Not that it would do much good.

His fingers found purchase on the handle of a pistol of sorts, and he quickly turned to face his tormenter with the barrel raised. Lucifer looked scared, which was... _wrong_. He was also still wearing Cas's face and body, Sam observed confusedly.

But then again, Lucifer was the Prince of Lies.

Making a decision, he pulled down on the trigger and braced himself for the loud gunshot about to ring out through the small room. It never came, though, instead replaced with a strangely anti-climatic _click._ Of course the gun wasn't loaded.

Lucifer began to close in on him, and Sam, seeing no other choice, scrambled to his feet. "Sam, stop," the Devil pleaded.

Again, weird.

Sam paused, hesitant. The archangel seemed like he was about to take another step, but at Sam's growled, "Don't," he froze. Since when was Lucifer ever complacent to him?

Instead of regaining his dominance, Lucifer looked over his shoulder at the open door frame, and yelled, "Dean!"

That was all it took, and at the sound of his brother's name Sam stopped staring and took action. Taking a large step forward, he adjusted the grip on the gun so that he was holding the muzzle and swung the butt toward his opposer's face. The attack connected with Lucifer's cheek, and Sam could hear the audible _crack_ that accompanied it.

The angel fell to the floor, giving Sam the opportunity he needed to pounce. Straddling the person whom tortured him for nearly two centuries—Sam had made sure to count every damn day he was down there—he threw punch after punch, savoring the audible grunt after each one. He'd needed this release for a long time.

"Sam…" Lucifer pleaded, but Sam'd be damned before he let his enemy have mercy. All those years in the Cage, all those times _he'd_ been the one begging for the angels to stop, to just _kill_ him, he'd never been given charity. _Never._

Suddenly, he heard the door slam against the wall and looked up quickly. Dean seemed _pissed_. And not just 'you ate my pie pissed,' but sincerely and truly angry. Sam scrunched his eyebrows in befuddlement. Why was Dean defending Satan even after he knew what the thing laying bloody before him did to Sam?

Before he knew it he was being shoved to his feet, Dean gripping his collar tightly. He almost stumbled while being forced backward, but his brother had such a solid hold on him that he kept Sam upright, and the wall he was then pinned against took the rest of the pressure. He gazed deep into Dean's eyes, feeling betrayed.

"It's not him," Dean whispered.

Sam felt all the air inside of him leave abruptly. "What?" he asked breathlessly.

"It's not Lucifer. It's Cas, man."

Instantly he relaxed, letting his entire weight befall upon Dean, his fatigue overcoming him and throbbing making itself known once more. Lucifer— _Cas?_ —was still on the ground, breathing heavily. His face was smeared with red. Now that Sam looked, _really_ looked, he could see the unthreatening features of his friend's vessel, body calm yet pain-ridden. There wasn't the normal swelling darkness that Lucifer seemed to carry about him, only...peace. Trust.

Dean relinquished his hold, and Sam fell to the floor in guilt. "I-I'm sorry," he sputtered, but he knew the excuse wasn't good enough. Panic had overtook him, and he'd reacted out of pure instinct. The instinct his father had drilled into him repeatedly since he was eight years old.

Beyond Sam's vision of Dean's legs, he could see Cas sit dazedly sit up and his brother move over to pick up the abandoned gun from the floor. He couldn't believe he'd done this. He pushed the back of his head into the wall, closing his eyes and facing the ceiling.

Dean must've also seen his posture, since he was soon asking, "Sammy, you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm sorry," Sam said again, but the pitiful apology still didn't seem like enough. He scrunched his eyes tighter against the headache.

He listened to Dean shuffle, then come at a kneel next to him. "Bullshit. What's wrong?"

Sam opened his eyes to look at him. "M'head hurts."

"Well, then get back in bed, idiot."

With Dean's help, Sam managed to stand. He struggled as he walked the three steps to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress, burrowing his head in the soft pillow.

Of course. Dean's bed.

"Is Cas okay?" he murmured inarticulately behind the fabric.

"I'm fine," came the hoarse response, and Sam felt a new wave of guilt run through him. _He_ did that.

A weight suddenly pushed down on the left side of him, and he knew without looking it was his brother. "Here," Dean said, and Sam turned his head to look at the bottle of pills. Flipping himself over so he was on his back, he held his hand out and Dean emptied two into his palm. It must be something strong if he only had to take that many.

He dry-swallowed them, nodding his thanks before collapsing back on the bed. He needed tranquility and quietness, though. He couldn't bare to look at his best friend right now...and Dean? God, Dean looked so upset with him.

"I think I'm going to go back to sleep," he said.

Dean studied him, looking like wanted to say something. "You sure?" he asked instead.

"Yeah. I'm sure." It came out a lot harsher than intended.

"Alright," Dean complied, and moved toward the door. "Uh...tell me if you need anything. Cas, let's go get you cleaned up, buddy."

Sam waited until the door was completely shut before he rolled his sleeve up and stared at the Mark.

He couldn't hold back the silent tears.

* * *

Cas's face was severely bruised, but the only real casualty was his split lip. The rest were just dim reminders of what happened. Dean leaned back in his chair in the common room, nursing the bottle of Jim Beam he held dearly to his chest. He couldn't stop running his mind over the events that occurred in the past few hours.

Cas sat opposite of him also holding a glass of alcohol, despite it not doing any good to soothe the same relief Dean was seeking. They stayed there in silence, and Dean couldn't help but drown in his own mind. He couldn't seem to do anything _other_ than drown in his own mind the past weeks, actually, now that he thought about it. He felt lost.

Damn God. Damn Amara. Damn Sam.

No—fuck Sam.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face in despair. If his brother hadn't been so desperate to save him, to release him from the Mark, Dean would still be wearing it and everything would be all right. Sam wouldn't be in this position.

Dean couldn't help but feel like whatever options they had, they all ended bloody. This was just the most horrific outcome. It hurt to remember how he'd almost killed Sam in that bar with Death, but now with this all happening, he kept thinking back to it. Especially with what Cain had said to him before he'd died.

" _My story began when I killed my brother, and that's where your story inevitably will end."_

He'd sounded so confident. And it almost surpassed—would have, if not for Sam's kind-hearted nature and faith in him. God, he loved that kid to death. But what would happen when the same events began to play out?

He trusted Sam with his life, but fighting the Mark was a fruitless war. And once he got hold of the First Blade…

"Hey, Cas?" Dean questioned abruptly.

The angel gazed at him.

"You hid the First Blade somewhere nobody will find it, right?"

Cas blinked. "Yeah. It's at—"

"Don't tell me," Dean interrupted. "I don't want to know. Just...you know where it is? Somewhere nobody could get it to Sam?"

Cas looked sympathetic. "No. It'd be nearly impossible." He leaned forward. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean moved awkwardly in his seat. "Yeah...I'm just thinking back to what happened with Sam. You don't think that this had something to do with the Mark, do you? I mean, I know Lucifer messed him up pretty bad, especially seeing him in you, so the reaction would've been perfectly reasonable. But that anger just seemed abrasive, y'know? I don't know, I might just be reading into it too much."

Cas shrugged his shoulders. "There'd be no telling. But remember how long it took for the Mark to grab ahold of you? It took quite a while."

"Not necessarily. The anger was always there...palpable. I just smothered it down. I didn't truly start to feel it affect me for about another week. It was a constant thing once I touched the First Blade, though. It was never this quick. That's what's worrying."

"I understand. Maybe it was just panic, then."

"I guess." Dean set the fragile bottle back on the table. "It was stupid of me to leave you with him, anyway. I should've figured he'd have that reaction—he never knew you were back." Cas stared hardly at him, saying nothing. Dean took that as his cue to shut up and stop blaming himself.

"Okay, well it's been a long-ass day. I need some sleep. Keep an eye on him, m'kay? He needs rest, because believe me, he ain't going to get much more as soon as this thing starts to grab him. But who knows, Sam surprises me all the time. Maybe he can fight it."

"Yeah, maybe," Cas agreed.

But he didn't sound too confident.

And Dean didn't take comfort in that.

* * *

 _So...do you guys think this was the Mark starting to finally take effect? Or do you think it was just a mishap built of terror?_

 _I'd love to hear your thoughts. Have a good night, everybody._


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm so sorry this is such a short update, but I figured you guys would want something instead of nothing. Now that it's summer, and I've finished my 50k word story that I'll be posting every week on Saturdays (please go check that out!), this story has my full attention._

 _I must say, I am a little regretful of my lack of posting, but I hope the quicker updates will make it up to y'all. Thanks for all the lovely comments, and I would absolutely love it if you could keep them coming. They really mean a lot._

 _Also, side-note: I just, as aforementioned, wrote a very long story, and it was all in present tense. Making it extremely hard to write his in past tense. If there's any issues, please point them out with a comment so I can fix them! I keep catching myself writing in present tense, then have to go back and remind myself that this is just definitely not that._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

The next time Sam awakened, it was a lot smoother ride than the last time. The only thing that truly bothered him was the dull throb coming from his torn knuckles that reminded him of his mistake last night.

God, he still couldn't believe he'd done that. Cas—it was actually Castiel; the angel whom had been with them for the past eight years, through thick and thin. The angel who had fought with them against the apocalypse orchestrated by his brethren. The angel who had rescued him from the Cage—not fully, but the thought still counted.

The angel who had survived Purgatory with Dean—sacrificing himself so Dean could get out. The angel who had tried so hard to be human and make things right. The angel who had broke Sam's wall. The angel who had let Lucifer out of the Cage after Sam had paid dues in the form of torture for centuries, betraying them.

 _Shit_.

Sam moved his hand so that it covered the burning Mark. Why was this thing already clinging on to him? It didn't happen like this with Dean, and he would know because he remembered every second of those two years his brother was leashed and brainwashed by the awful tattoo.

He should tell Dean. They should find some way to keep him locked up in the dungeon. Make sure the pentagram of the devil's trap is still in tact, and maybe make it more comfortable? A couch would be nice to spend the rest of eternity.

"Sheesh!" Sam cried, opening his eyes and tightening his hold on his forearm, as though clenching it tighter might make the thing disappear into his skin and never resurface. The Mark pulsed with pain—it quite obviously did not like Sam's plan.

Something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. This was nothing like last time, unless Dean did a damn good job concealing this from him. Doubtful, though. And it's not that Sam didn't think Dean was capable of hiding things from him—he most certainly was—it's that this would be a difficult thing to restrain. Thirty seconds in and he already wanted to go bitching to his brother, and he's pretty much the only human being who had been cell-mates with the Devil and co.

He wondered where Dean and his brother were at. His room was void of any people, unlike last time, and he had to smother the growing anxiety at the thought of being left alone. Ever since he took a nose-dive into the Cage, he's never been fully comfortable with the thought of solitude, and Dean's come to understand this over the years.

Sometimes when Lucifer would get well and truly fed up with Sam, he would throw him into nothingness—only the dark to keep him company. It was a lonely place, but it was a tactic that worked spectacularly. An almost Stockholm Syndrome of sorts. If Sam ever misbehaved or got under the skin of either of the archangels, they'd leave him imprisoned in darkness for what felt like years, even though in reality it was probably a measly month. Which was nothing when you were down in Hell, but it was well enough to keep him subordinate and in-check.

Surprisingly, Dean had been mostly all right with the situation of Sam's hell recovery. This was most likely due to his own connection to the place, of course, but having someone he could rely on (someone who wouldn't judge him when he woke up in the middle of the night screaming in Enochian) was something that helped him from going off the rails again.

Because, after all, Castiel never fully removed the memories. He only took away the insanity.

After a few tense moments of trying to control himself, Sam finally pulled himself out of bed. He could feel his hair was a disheveled mess, but he couldn't bring himself to care—there were far more important things to discuss right now.

He found Cas in the bunker's common room, sitting in a chair, staring at the empty bottle of JD. Sam knew the angel wasn't the one who drank all that, and eventually came to the conclusion Dean was probably busy sleeping off one hell of a hangover. It was six in the morning, anyhow.

Instead of drawing attention to himself and burdening Cas with his worries, Sam decided to head to the library. Silently, he creeped away, and patted himself on the back when he evaded detection.

When he entered the room, he found a strange feeling enswathe him—almost that of a scratchy quilt, instead of a comforting one. It gnawed at his mind as he ran his hand over the spines of the many novels, and after a few moments of contemplation, it came to him gently.

All of these books detailed certain aspects of the supernatural world. Namely, demons and monsters. Something that Sam will eventually become.

Suddenly, the library didn't really seem like a such a fond idea to him anymore.

He backtracked out of the room, then stumbled as soon as he hit something hard. His brother looked up at him, equally surprised at this turn of events, with matching frizzled hair.

"Oh—" Dean said, obviously a little shocked to find his brother out of bed so soon.  
Sam snorted, shaking his head. "This is my house, too, Dean. I do have the permission to walk around freely in it." He strode past Dean's stupefied figure and into the hallway, and it isn't long before he expectedly heard Dean fall into step behind him.

"Why were you going to the library?" Sam asked as they navigated the corridors. It wasn't like Dean to simply go and read a book as Sam was planning.

Dean was seemingly caught off guard by the question and gave the same faulty excuse that Sam was waiting for: an early morning book read. So obviously a lie that it almost made him laugh.

"Cut the crap, Dean. What were you doing?"

His brother sighed resignedly. "I was going to see if there was anything mentioning a way to get the Book of the Damned back."

Sam sniggered. "Back? What happened, you lose it somehow? Or was it a one-time use?"

"Chuck smited it."

Sam cocked his head. "Ah." It was silent for a few seconds, and then Sam continued with the question, "You know you're not going to find anything, right?"

"The hell I'm not," Dean replied viciously.

Sam felt his eyeballs grate against his lids as he rolled them. "I hope you haven't forgotten I've already been down that path, Dean. I know there's nothing else there. And believe me, even if there were, I wouldn't let you do it."

"I didn't _let you_ save me and yet you still managed to do it."

Sam chuckled. "Fair point."

They reached the main room where Cas was previously sitting, but the celestial being was no longer there, presumably off someplace to think things through. Sam walked over to one of the cabinets and grabbed a bottle of over-the-counter medicine, briefly seeing that it was Advil, and tossed it to Dean over his shoulder.

"Savior," Dean mumbled somewhat contritely.

Sam hummed in response, wondering when he should bring up the inevitable. Now is a good as time as any, he supposed.

"I think you should start thinking about places to lock me up, Dean."

The pills are nearly spit back out in astonishment. "What?" Dean chokes.

"It's only a matter of time before I become something I'm not. You saw what I did to Cas."

Dean raised two akimbo arms in anger once he properly managed to get the meds down his dry throat. "You were scared! Freaked!"

"But is that all it was?" Sam questioned, and left the question hanging. He wasn't really sure of the answer himself, but all he knew was that Dean was being way too stubborn on this subject of matter, and it was a bit worrying. If it was the last thing he did, Sam wasn't going to endanger his own family.

Dean dropped his limbs. "Why are you so nonchalant about this whole thing, dude? I was scared shitless."

"And so he admits it," Sam said smugly, then sobered up not more than two seconds later. "I am scared. But I acknowledge what's happening. I didn't go into this blind, and neither did you. So we're going to have to come to a compromise here."

Dean narrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not locking my brother up in the dungeon like some filthy animal." Sam felt a punch to the gut on that one. Dean saw what he said instantly, though, and hastily added, "Forever, that is."

"You might not have a choice."

"Sam, this conversation is done. I'm not chaining you up. Period."

And so the argument drew to a strangely anti-climatic close. Sam desperately wanted to challenge Dean more about this, but smartly decided he didn't want to give the Mark anymore fuel than it already had. Sure, it had plenty of ammo when it was on Dean, because, well—let's face it. Dean had more issues with him than probably anybody else on the planet; they were just never admitted, though, because Dean somehow still saw Sam as his little brother, and a thing he was dutied to protect.

There was no changing Dean's mind once he had set it, and Sam knew this from years of experience. Which meant, like always, he'd have to find his own solution around this problem.

Even if it meant hurting Dean in the process.

He's sure some criminal would gladly bury him alive.

* * *

 _So, Sam, like always, is trying to protect his family_ — _the question is, though, is he going about it the right way? He knows Dean won't lock him up in a million years, and will instead try to save him just like Sam once did for him. But...the question is...is this the right decision?_

 _tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

_1100 words? God I'm so incompetent. Months go by and this is all I can provide? I'm literally such a terrible person._

 _This_ _is just a stupid little rant. So if you want to skip it that's fine; the (small) chapter is below._

* * *

 _I'm_ _sorry for keeping y'all waiting. I really am. And I'm sorry this update is, like, nothing. But you have to understand something. I never meant for this story to be more than a one-shot. And suddenly, it becomes my most followed story, with tons of fucking amazing reviews from amazing, amazing people, and I'm scrambling to come up with a plot._

 _I have a basic idea of some things, but I don't have the desire to write this story at all. This doesn't mean I will abandon it, of course. I wouldn't do that. But what it does mean, is unfortunately, the updates might continue like this._

 _The_ _past few months my mental health has really declined. Everything that has been an interest of mine just suddenly seems so...bland. Video editing was a real passion I had—now I can't even bring myself to open up my software. Writing was a real passion I had—now I can't even get to my computer and open a document. Soccer was a passion I had—now it's something I can't help but feel a chore, even though I know I love it._

 _I dont know if that even makes sense._ _The point is, it's hard for me to write currently. Things are getting bad, and I'm starting to lose hope that it'll get better, y'know? Everything just seems so downhill, and it doesn't seem like it ever goes up. And if I do have a good day(s)? It strikes me down tenfold again, and it hurts worse and worse each time._

 _Part_ _of me feels like I'm letting you guys down. That it should be the least I could do for you guys who take the time to acknowledge my work and support it. And I wish I could give you guys more—you deserve more. And I wish I was mentally healthy enough. And I wish I was strong enough. And I wish I was productive enough._

 _But_ _I'm not._

 _And for that I apologise. If you want some more of my work, and some more hurt!sam, I encourage you to look at my other story, Gallows. It was completely written months before, when I still was mentally capable enough to bring myself to write, so updates shouldn't be too far apart._

 _Again_ _, I reiterate, I am not abandoning this story. But I need time to sort out my issues, and try to get back on my feet—if that's even possible. So please don't expect more too quickly. I will try my best._

 _Thank_ _you._

* * *

Dean knew his brother was planning something and it was pissing him off.

After Sam's stint last year going behind Dean's back with the Mark of Cain and releasing Amara, it was a little unnerving that he'd given up so easily during their fight an hour ago. He was half-expecting Sam to fight tooth and nail through proverbial blood and bone until Dean had concaved and chained him up in the basement, which made him more than a little surprised when the younger hunter just shook his head and left the room.

After all, it was kind of Sam's thing to go do exactly what Dean told him not to. Not that Dean hadn't done the same...but when Sam thought he was doing the right thing, then oftentimes he wasn't to be messed with. And sometimes it almost got him killed.

That's the thing. Ever since the Werther Box incident, where Sam had nearly killed himself just for the codex to the Book of the Damned, Dean had been on Sammy-alert constantly. Despite the fact it was a hallucination and faux reality that was trying to usher Sam into depositing all of his blood into that basin, it still terrified him how steadfast Sam was to go through with the deed.

Sam was smart enough to know how to avoid that kind of bullshit. Which made Dean not entirely convinced when his brother said in his most soft and gentle tone that it was just a mishap and he'd been fooled by the Werther's ministrations.

Sam's willingness to toss his life away genuinely made Dean scared. Because although you could argue that Dean was a hypocrite, was the exact same way, it was his goddamn brother and his _goddamn brother_ was _not_ supposed to think so little of himself. Sam had been through so much more than anyone else on this spinning piece of garbage that he didn't deserve to have such low self-esteem.

Christ their lives were so messed up.

Speaking of Sam, Dean had watched on as he'd continued on his way to the library after being interrupted so graciously by Dean's own presence, and Dean had fairly came to the decision he didn't want Sam alone until he knew he had a grasp on this whole Mark of Cain thing. So, he came up with some half-assed excuse that he would have to spout and entered the room of archives, closing the door slowly behind him.

"Figured you'd want some help," he said in his best honesty impersonation. "I'd rather both of us be doing something than—"

As he turned around to face the room, he realized with disappointment that the place was empty. No Sam. Could just be a coincidence.

Could be something more.

That was enough to spur him into movement. He reopened the wooden door with newfound fervor and bounded down the halls, making his way to Sam's room. While he hoped this was just a simple misunderstanding and his doofus of a brother was sleeping again, he wasn't surprised when his search gave him the same results as the library.

Shit.

* * *

Sam tugged his jacket closer around his shoulders as the breeze rippled through his clothing. The sun was just setting over the horizon, sinking like a capsized ship into the waters beneath. Sleep tugged at his eyelids, but he knew he couldn't rest. Dean ought to be on his ass by now.

He'd taken a plane to get here. That should've slowed his brother down enough to give him a few hours' headstart, he hoped. Lebanon to San Diego is quite a drive, even for Dean's vehicular skills, and he managed to score a new credit card that shouldn't be able to be tracked by known aliases. All in all, he should be under the radar now.

He now stood on the edge of the dock of Oceanside's pier, thinking, waiting. Sam would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling regret for what he was doing. He knew how it felt to know your brother was on a suicide mission. But Chuck's words...they reverberate in his head, echoing on such a high reverb setting that he can't dampen with music or noise suppression.

 _"You will not be hurting yourself here, but as for your brother… Lord only knows what will happen."_

If he stayed, it would only be worse than if he were to just disappear. Nothing hurt more than to watch your only family succumb to something irreversible, slowly fading, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Sam's had the unfortunate privilege of dealing with both.

Mystery Spot. Mark of Cain. The demon deal. Dean cannot catch a fucking break from death and now Sam was forced to put even more heartache upon his brother. Whichever would hurt Dean less, nevermore if it would be worse for Sam, he'd opt for in a second, though.

A presence to his right stood out from the other tourists passing by on the boardwalk. He didn't shift his focus from the waves beneath him, even though his hairs began to stand up on his arms.

"Sam Winchester."

Sam tilted his head, focusing. "You're in a live vessel. I told you to only possess a dead one."

"Slim pickings, I'm afraid. You shouldn't worry. I won't harm him."

Finally, Sam turned to look at the demon. He's an average-sized man with a slim build, dusty hair falling down in a messy mop. "I'll hold you to that," he said.

The demon, too, leans against the railing, falling into a similar position as Sam's own. "How'd you know what vessel I was in?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. It would be great if you could satisfy my curiosity, though, for what I'm going to do for you."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, shifting his feet so that he's more comfortable. After a moment, he said curtly, "You're here for one reason, and one reason only. I get the feeling you already know. So shove that crap back up your ass and forget about it, or I will end you in a heartbeat."

The demon seemed to get the message, looking away for a moment at a group of children playing by the walls of the restaurant.

"Don't even think about it," Sam growled. "You get me what I need, I let you live. That's the deal."

The demon seemed surprised. "I wasn't going to do anything," it insisted, raising its hands in mock surrender. "Jumpy, are we?"

"You were thinking about it," Sam muttered.

"I'm hurt you'd even consider I'd do such a thing."

"Good."

The demon huffed, shoulders dropping for a moment, before placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, and the Winchester soon found himself in a place he didn't recognize. He stumbled upon landing, instantly taking stock of his surroundings. Dark, hot. Quite the opposite of where he knew he was going.

He let the warmth sink into his skin for a final time, then shook his head as he realized how stupid, how pointless that was.

The Cage never cared about his body temperature anyway.


End file.
